Shut Up and Dance
by chaoticlivi
Summary: Heavily inspired by Walk the Moon. Soul and Maka have a really good time at a club. Fluffy with a sexual overtone.


The bass reverberates in his heart while the treble crackles through his mind, leaving trails of color in its wake. To match, neon lights - blue, green, pink, red, purple - revel in the fog machine's mist.

He's happy.

In theory, clubs are not Soul's favorite places because the music is lousy and they're full of sweaty strangers. He has to admit, though, this isn't bad; he can appreciate a good beat, after all, and it's Patti's birthday party, so it's not just a bunch of strangers he gets to watch turn into total fools. All of the-group-formerly-known-as-Spartoi is there.

Including Maka. She keeps throwing him smiles from one seat over where they sit at the table, and he can't stop dreaming about being alone together with her in a much quieter corner, running his fingers along the piano-key pattern at the bottom of her backless dress.

He thinks she chose it on purpose, but he's not positive.

"Come on, Soul," Maka says, eager, impatient, and she grabs his arm to pull him forward. Oh. He was fantasizing too much and now she's ready to dance. Good thing he's a master at looking more bored when he gets startled. He gives her an obligatory grumble but has no intent to deny her, a grin already pulling at the sides of his lips. Her eyes meet his, and in her gaze he sees a new certainty, a promise for the future, if he's willing to accept it.

He feels something stir in his chest and knows exactly what it is.

When they get on the floor, he finds himself more self-conscious than he's felt in years, certainly since before Kid's coronation. He can't help glancing around to see what everyone else is doing.

"Don't you dare look back," Maka says, grinning. A rotating light sweeps over her face, temporarily illuminating her. "I'm not letting you get away for at least a couple of songs."

"I'm not trying to get away," Soul answers, mustering his best fake-offended voice even though he knows she can see and hear his smirk. "Just looking at all these nerds."

"Soul." Maka steps in closer and takes his hands, starting to move his arms with something that might be called a "rhythm" if only in intent. "Don't worry about them. Just keep your eyes on me and dance like no one's watching."

He stands still and chuckles, and she stops hopping around to eyeball him. "You're giving me dancing lessons?" he clarifies.

"I–" Maka turns bright red. "You're just really uptight about dancing, so I thought you could use some encouragement!"

Soul shakes his head, still beaming. "Yeah, I get it, but I know how to dance, unlike you–"

"–Hey!" She pouts. "There's no wrong way!"

"Then show me how it's done, my meister," he taunts. She huffs and it's like a kitten sneezing angrily (though he couldn't forget if he wanted to that this kitten has slain 351 evil humans and counting).

They begin, but wait. She's doing some sort of side-to-side body wave, and while she's cute - hmm. It feels more inhibited than the jazzy, cheerful undulations he's observed when she's danced in a group in years past. Soul assumes he's supposed to be mirroring her, unflattering though it will be.

Before he embarrasses himself, he realizes something important and it escapes his mouth too quickly for him to think twice about it: "You're holding back, Maka."

Maka narrows her eyes, then balls her fists. "Ugh, just…shut up and dance with me!"

And she shoots him a defiant look as she begins to swing her hips deliciously. He keeps up with her, though, the two of them facing. (This is so new - even two and a half years ago, even after he'd performed at Kid's coronation, he probably would never have done this.)

The things that make her a bad formal dancer make her an excellent club dancer. He knows the difference happiness makes in her movements, and now - despite, or, he hopes, because of their silly banter - she's positively radiant. Seeing her joy come out in her body is far better than watching the choreographed, disingenuous performance of someone dancing with skill but without feeling.

The abandon in the swaying of her hips and shoulders combined with her feisty smile turns him on, makes it impossible not to move closer. She shoots him another look, this one full of smug defiance, a spark that says "You asked for a dance and now you're getting one," as well as…whatever he saw when she first dragged him out here. Endless possibility, maybe.

The song has since changed, but they keep moving. It doesn't take long before they can't get any closer - at least, not facing each other. The solution is, of course, for Maka to dance with her back to him; the transition from silly to sexy is seamless as he slips behind her while she slips in front of him.

She starts to emphasize the grind in her hips more. He's already thrusting his own hips forward in time with the music, and watching her roll her ass deliciously only a few inches from his groin could make him mad with lust. He feels the heat building and his arousal begins to strain against his pants.

Death, he loves her, mind, body, and soul. He's resisted all this for so long, and from the way she's moving, her slow gravitation toward his front, he's certain she has also been restraining herself. Fear for their partnership and fear of the past may have kept them both from making any romantic overtures before, but as she dances in front of him and glances over her shoulder with her green-fire eyes he feels the pull of passion. This isn't a new thought, but it's so loud tonight, so urgent in the foggy, faded lights: they're bound to get together, whether tonight or in the future.

He puts his hands on her waist, cautious.

Ah, feeling her body under his palms and fingers - she's so warm and sturdy. Maka pushes back, even closer. Surely she can feel him, surely she's pressing hard enough… He moves his hold to her hips, more certain now, and the motion of her swaying swings his hands back and forth. He presses forward and they're in full contact. Fuck, it feels incredible, like she wants for them to take each other here and now.

There's something else he wants to do, and he has a feeling this is going to be his first and last chance tonight. Their courage, he fears, could fade, and he's not patient enough to wait for another moment. He's able to smell her hair, and it's sweet, and the heat radiates from her skin.

"Maka," he whispers in her ear, leaning over her shoulder. Her hair brushes his face when she turns toward him, anticipating, and he plants a delicate kiss on her perfect, soft lips.

They are no longer dancing. They're just standing around on the floor. Nobody seems to notice, though, and for once in his life, Soul isn't paying attention to what he looks like. He's too busy paying attention to what Maka looks like. Her face is flushed from so much more than dancing, but from her hooded eyes he knows she isn't surprised; she just wants more, and she turns to face him, kissing him ferociously in the midst of an embrace that seems too big for someone her size.

But she's Maka Albarn. Her hugs, like everything else about her, are unexpectedly strong. He returns her grip, nearly lifting her off the floor.

Soul opens his mouth to meet her tongue with his, and he can't get enough of her taste, her smell. "Whoa," he breathes through the kiss as she slams her hips into him.

Maka laughs, eyes still dark with desire. "I think we should get out of the way, don't you?"

And the realization that they're still standing in a crowd hits him like a bolt of lightning. His glance darts around anxiously, but no one has noticed - except, apparently, for Black*Star, who catches his eye and gives him a thumbs-up.

With an embarrassed flush and not a single word, Soul leads Maka off the dance floor, and they find the private place Soul had been fantasizing about, tucked away among faded lights and a thrumming bass.

(They worry about what Patti will think, as it is her birthday party, but when they go to find her later that night, she's already excited that hers was the party that got them together.)


End file.
